


dont touch me im scared

by Particle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Particle/pseuds/Particle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some loser's hermit fantroll gets attacked by a midget with too much energy. do they survive. no, the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WHO'S THIS FAG

The room was dark, as it always was. There were no windows to let sunlight in, though the day was at it's peak. No door to open or close, no breeze to move the air, just stone walls and the quiet blathering of a lone troll. The sound of his voice echoed through the underground tunnels of his hive, but were too quiet to travel far. He hated silence, but had forsaken himself to a life of it. He talked so often you'd think he'd run out of things to say, but you can say anything when no one is listening, any and everything. And he did, day in and day out, speaking to the walls decorated in the deep pathways of his chisel. He couldn't see them, the room was too dark, but he liked to run his fingers over them and imagine they made a beautiful mural out of the coarse stone walls.The troll stood, content with the physical stimulation the wall provided him with, and moved towards the exit of his large circular room. He used the wall as guidance towards the outbound tunnel, looking his arm to various shelves and cubbies carved into the wall along the way. His lusus helped him put those there when he was young, they were a little high for his reach in those days, but now that he had grown they fit him perfectly. The design was the best for him as well- proper furniture would have been hard to find... unless he smacked his hip into it while trying to walk. The poor guy got enough bruises from running into things as is, the last thing he needed were sharp corners to bruise his innocent pelvis.Leaving his mole lusus's "bed" in the ground, he followed the wall first to his clothing cubbies. They were all very organised- three of them, long and rectangular. The top held his shirts, or rather, the shirts he had taken off of the dead; directly under that was the second for his pants of a similar origin, and ground level sat a cubbie for his shoes. All of the clothing was dirty, and half of it didn't fit him, but he kept them anyways... Simply because he was too afraid to dispose of them. Passed the shelves was his desk; a large rectangular cut out in the wall with a stone slab snugly wedged between the walls. It was home to a number of things, his favourite of which was an old radio. It didn't play any music, that wasn't it's purpose, it was a communication radio. Even so, all he ever heard from it was static. The hive was too far under the mountain to get any signal from people above ground, and no one ever came close enough to this room to transmit any sort of message. It didn't bother the troll, though. He was content with static, even if it was an awful conversationalist. The radio was kept company by jars and jars of small crystals- they were the ones too small to be kept in the crate under the desk. Most would say they glowed faintly in the darkness, but this particularly troll found them horribly lackluster. He liked to feel them, though. They were smooth and sleek, some were sharp and others had rough edges. The flat faces of them remind him of his horns, though, and were a refreshingly nice texture in comparison to the rest of the rough world around him. There was also an old husktop sitting awkwardly on the outskirts of the desk party, covered in dirt and grime from sweeps of neglect. There were probably bugs in the circuitry. This troll didn't care much about it, he didn't see the appeal of a husktop and he didn't know how to use it, or if he could. After all, he couldn't read. Nor could he learn how to, it was just out of the question. This was another fact or reality that didn't bother the lad, he had no use for reading or writing... or typing. Passed the desk, quite a ways passed it, was his exit tunnel. But right before that was a large spike in the wall and a crate on the ground. The spike was a huge safety hazard, but it served a purpose and the troll couldn't bring himself to get rid of it... no matter how many times he ran into it. He was fairly certain he had a permanent bruise across his shoulder from the thing. Regardless, it was an important part of his home and it held his walking staff upright. This staff... This over-sized stick was very important to him. It held a lot of sentimental value, not because it was found in any remarkable manner, but simply because he had owned it for so long that he grew emotionally attached to it. The stick, although dead, grew up with him and held all of his secrets. In return, his hand held many splinters accumulated over the sweeps, both new and old. In his case, splinters were permanent, often times being grown over by skin. They used to hurt, but after nine sweeps he's learned to get over it.

He greeted his old friend, managing to avoid the protrusion from the wall for once, and tapped the staff on the ground to expel any dust that had collected since he last left his room. He turned to his sleeping lusus and bid him farewell before stepping into the long, wide tunnel. 

He talked to his staff as he walked, using the stick to tap the ground in front of his feet for large rocks or holes that could make him trip. Most days he news this area pretty well, he knew all the tunnels pretty well, but some days there would be a new rock that fell off the walls. That was about the extent of the excitement this deep underground. As he continued to walk, careful of the pathways he took and following his nose to higher ground, he could hear the loud shouts of miners at the mouth of the cave and the clanking of their hammers and pick axes against stone. Apparently these tunnels were rich in minerals, most days these miners would excavate the shallow tunnels for a few hours. Our troll never knows if they've found anything, but he assumes they have, since they keep coming back. He's afraid of them, and stays far from them, but simultaneously takes comfort in their routine. They help him determine the time of day better than the temperature can and sometimes they leave things behind for him to find. Unfortunately, sometimes, more often than you think, trolls will wander into the tunnels in search of something. Maybe it's more minerals, maybe it's treasure, or maybe they're being chased by something, but none of them get very far. The labyrinth of tunnels dug into and under the mountain side was a formidable force. Most who tried to explore them would die or turn around before finding anything of true value. Our troll is the janitor and the tenant of this maze, and as such he takes it on himself to clear it of those who pass here... Admittingly because they start to smell very quickly. He's got a bit of a sensitive nose. 

He wandered further into the shallow region of the tunnels until the air got thicker and oxygen filled his lungs. Much like high altitudes, the deep underground had thin air that was hard to breathe in, and high levels of carbon dioxide. He was glad he took after his lusii, or the lack of oxygen in his room may have been a problem, but as was it was just another fact of life. Not to say he didn't thoroughly enjoy fresh air- it was very refreshing and warm in comparison to his usual. He was content here, close enough to breathe and hear, but far enough from the outside to remain unnoticed. After all, nobody actually knew he lived here. People might come looking for him if they did, and that would be disastrous for everyone involved. There was more than one way to die in this place. Oxygen deprivation was one, but there was a constant risk of cave-ins as well. It's easy to get lost as well, run out of survival supplies, and collapse trying to find the way out again. There were even rumours that the cave was haunted. Our troll has never seen a ghost or come in contact with one, though. He kind of wishes he would, maybe they'd keep him company. He imagined a ghost friend would be great company, after all, they couldn't kill him if they were already dead themselves. 

After a while of sitting, a while of waiting, and a while of listening, the miners groaned in unison. Apparently it was getting late, most of them were complaining about sore backs and arms while others made fun of the complainers. There was one that cooed and fawned over getting to go home to their matesprit. The others unanimously told him to shut up and stop rubbing it in. They chatted and bickered as they gathered their supplies and left- voices and footsteps fading out of the cave. Our young troll slowly got up from this place on the ground and warily walked towards the outside. He sniffed and listened for any movement in case anyone was left behind. Slowly, gingerly, he let his feet lead him to the outside of the cave, where the miners just were, and started to feel around for any forgotten or discarded objects. There were none today, which was a bit disappointing but not unusual.

On a normal basis, he'd scurry back into the safety of darkness before anyone had a chance to come back... But this evening had such a nice breeze. It was arm against his skin accustomed to the cold, and it was gentle. It wasn't scary like most winds, it didn't try to knock him down or blow sand in his face. It wasn't violent like most winds, it was kind and it was comforting. The troll stood in it for a long moment, breathing in the heavy air and feeling how it filled his lungs with life. He wavered where he stood, caught up in the serenity of quiet life around him. He decided to sit and breathe. No talking to himself, no echoing voices or sounds of work, just the swaying of leaves and sweet whistling of the breeze.


	2. INCOMING!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD SOMEBODY HELP

Night fell faster than he could notice, the harsh temperature drop sinking into his skin and rattling his bones. He jolted to his feet, still holding tight to his staff, and ran deep into the mountainside. The moonlit hours meant much more than the cold, more than the miners going home, night meant the nocturnals wake up and the idiots come out. This was the time that the thrill-seeking children came in search of ghosts, the hours that teenagers put their courage to the test and their awful friends pulled tasteless pranks to prove some kind of point. He could smell them, the wind carried the stench of adrenaline for miles… That was just a metaphor, in reality they reeked of sweaty armpits. He couldn’t blame them for being nervous though, taking risks was dangerous. Taking risks could kill you, more than everything else could. Sitting at the mouth of the cave was enough adventure for him for a sweep, leaving his hive completely was undoubtedly out of the question. Interacting with the living was never going to happen. He was okay living alone if it meant living at all. People weren’t to be trusted, people were as dangerous as taking risks. They’d kill you given a moment’s notice and feel no remorse. People scared him.

He ran deeper into the maze until the sweaty stench was gone and stopped to catch his breath. You’d think he’d be in better shape after pacing through this hole every day, but you’d’ve thought wrong. He leaned against his stick and breathed a little heavier, getting used to the gradual decrease in oxygen. His breathing calmed and settled back into an even pattern, the cramps in his stomach subsided, and his ears throbbed with the sound of his heart beat. He paused to listen for any sign of life before continuing home at a more leisurely pace.

\---  
He propped his stick up against it’s spike, carefully walking around it and following the wall to his desk, where he sat on a couple of stacked empty crates and turned on the radio. 

He pushed the transmission key, “h-hello?” He let go, waiting for a response. Nothing, as always. Every night, he got his hopes up, and every night they were shattered. Sure, people were cruel and horrible, but… How he longed for someone to talk to. Moledad wasn’t the best at talking- in fact, he didn’t talk at all. Nine sweeps of silence hang heavy on the heart, and listening in on the miners’ conversations never helped him feel any better. They all talked about their quadrants and their romances, black and red alike. They talked about their moirails and griped about auspistices ruining their fun. Laughed about their less pale friends and shared all kinds of stories. He knew people were dangerous, he knew they were nothing but trouble, but he couldn’t help but want to have someone he could trust. Someone that wouldn’t try to kill him, or feed him to their lusus, or rob him of his valuables. He wanted a friend to share stories with. As it were, the only people he got to talk to were the dead. It had been a few days since someone last died here, which may have been a happy occurrence for someone else, but for him it just made things more lonely. He cleared his throat and pressed the transmission button again, “hī agaīn. īt’s me, same as always. you remember me, rīght? adīatl? yeah, well, nothīng īnterestīng happened today. ī līstened to the mīners agaīn. one of them got a new matesprīt, he sounds really happy about īt. do you have a matesprīt? ī thīnk īt would be kīnd of nīce to have someone līke that, but that’s dangerous busīness. you’d have to tell them your secrets and your thoughts, your fears and your dreams… funny jokes and stories too… hm. … īs anyone there?” He shut the device off with a frown, “o-of course there īsn’t,” getting up from the crates and moving along the wall to where moledad slept. Moledad was a large creature, by human standards he resembled a hairy-tailed mole at first glance, but when he opened his long mouth you’d find it flares out into a flower of teeth with no structural jaw in the midsts. Moledad’s saliva could paralyze intruders if it needed to, and he used to be very territorial, but these day’s he’s very lazy. Perhaps that’s the wrong word for it; apathetic would be more suited for the situation. The lusus now was a lethargic mass of warm fur and claws, he spent most of his days sleeping in a shallow burrow he made for himself near Adiatl’s recupricoon and seldom left that spot. Adiatl typically brought him food and spent his nights in the arms of lusus rather than in his ‘coon. He wasn’t a fan of sleep and often avoided it, instead spending the time staying warm with his only companion until morning. It wasn’t easy going sleepless, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to collapse from exhaustion at inopportune times, but it was worth it.

Tonight was like all the others. He slinked over to his lusus and flopped heavily onto the ball of fur. “hī molar,” he sighed, “there was no one on the radīo today. dīd you see anyone outsīde? … dīd you leave the burrow at all…? … ī dīdn’t thīnk so. but that’s alrīght, you don’t have to go anywhere īf you’re not feelīng well. you do what’s best for you untīl you get better. ī hate seeīng you līke thīs, so get better soon. then maybe we can go do somethīng. … are you awake? … yeah, ī fīgured.” He fluffed up a patch of fur and laid stomach-down on the animal. “ī thīnk, maybe, we should try gettīng out more. once a week… no, you’re rīght, that’s a terrīble īdea.” Adiatl sighed again, crossing his arms under his face as if it was a better pillow than fur. Though it’s true moledad wasn’t exactly the softest. He felt a lot like the rest of this place- coarse and lifeless.

The hours passed by slowly, Adiatl fidgeted the entire time. He couldn’t shake a feeling of unease- well, he was always uneasy, but tonight was worse than usual. It stiffened his shoulders and hung in his throat like a thick coating of mucus. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable and borderline disgusting… As far as intuitions go. Could an intuition be disgusting? He didn’t see why not. The troll rolled off of his lusus and onto the floor, laying there for a moment to see if it was any more comfortable. It wasn’t. He felt a need to get up and walk around, which was a rare craving indeed. This new bravery got him on his feet, away from the wall, and walking straight across the room. Even with his arms stretched out in front of him, he managed to run into a wall. Upon investigation, the cunning detective deduced that he had, in fact, walked right into his clothing shelves. The first shelf was so perfectly at arms’ height that they went right into the cubbie- and his head right into the wall. Adiatl scoffed at his poor luck and rubbed his forehead with one hand, the other grabbing a shirt and shaking it free of dust. The caves were too cold to navigate comfortably at night, so he’d need another layer to delay the freeze. He pulled the shirt over his head, realising soon after that it was maybe two sizes too big for him. Adiatl was a big guy, topping off at 190 centimetres, but the higher bloods never ceased to astound him with how large they could get. Maybe they were lower bloods? There were more castes above his mossy green blood, but the castes below him had large populations. Maybe the previous owner of this shirt was a more orangey hue? What, exactly, made troll blood come in various hues? He didn’t know a lot about the abilities of the different colours- except for that the yellow people were better with some kind of magic, and the highest bloods lived in the sea. The miners had bad things to say about the sea dwellers. Not that it mattered much, Adiatl was certain he’d never meet a seadweller, or even get near one. Not unless the ocean came to sea him. [ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ] Now well prepared, with a total of three shirts, the green giant made his way out of the burrow and into the tunnels for the second time today.

They were as quiet as he had left them, his staff and footsteps being the only things to disrupt the still silence. It was too quiet. Adiatl sighed loudly just to hear the echo and began talking. Nothing interesting, more plans for the week, talk of food and wondering when he’ll get new batteries for his radio. They usually came from forgotten lanterns and flashlights, but he hadn’t found any of those recently. Maybe he would today, but probably not. His one-sided conversation with the stick quieted down to silence as they approached the shallow end of the maze. It seemed to still be quiet outside- quiet enough to dare nearing the open end of the cave, but as soon as he did, something rustled around outside. Adiatl took a step back, sniffing for anything unusual, but the air just smelt of rain. He stood still for a moment. Warily reclaimed the step caution had stole. Something fell to the ground with a loud, inorganic thud, and Adiatl booked it back into the tunnels, only stopping when he was sure he had gone deep enough to lose his pursuer.

But… Footsteps? They kept following him?! The footsteps were approaching fast and directly towards him. Before he could turn and run very far, something small ran straight into his back and bowled him over, the two tumbling and rolling back in uncomfortable somersaults against the stone ground. The cave-dweller let out a terrified shriek and instinctively crossed his arms in front of his face to protect his head from this intruder, whimpering desperate pleas to whatever it was that had found him.

“d-don’t kīll me, oh god, please don’t kīll me,” he trembled beneath this small figure, still cowering behind his arms.

“woah!!! aRE yoU thE ghoSt?! yoU fEEl REally alivE foR a dEad guy!!!!”

“y-you’re going to kīll me oh god please don’t ī haven’t bothered anyone please don’t kīll me ī won’t bother you eīther please!!”

“Kill yoU?? yoU’RE not alREady dEad????? but yoU’RE whitE aS a ghoSt!! yoU Sayin yoU’RE alivE?”

“o-only īf you don’t kīll me, ī am!”

The little troll sat on the other’s stomach and tapped his chin, scrunching up his face in thought. “yoU’RE not dEad. that mEanS yoU’RE not the ghoSt.” He slumped forward in disappointment and wailed a loud, “aw man!!! i camE all thE way hERE foR a wEEniE that SmEllS liKE Shit and dEad pEoplE?! thiS SuCKS!!!” He groaned loudly and slumped backwards… Then to the side… And the other side… Squirming around on the recluse’s stomach as the terrified troll continued to protect his face. “yoU livE hERE oR SomEthin??”

“n-no,” he lied, “ī was lookīng for the ghost… too.”

“REally?! awESomE, wE can looK togEthER!!! i’m lEnoth, who’RE you?!”

“u-uh, ī’m…” Adiatl struggled for a fake name, coming up blank, “ī’m, uh--”

“didja foRgEt yoUR own namE?? haha, man, that’S pREtty pathEtic. i’ll call yoU mEnoth. bEcauSE it RhymES with lEnoth.” Lenoth got off of this new friend he had claimed and pulled him up to his feet by the arm. Menoth, as we’ll call him for complexities sake, reluctantly fumbled onto his feet, quickly bending down to reclaim his staff and hold it tightly near his chest. “hEy mEnoth, what’S that? a StiCK?”

“n-no.”

“yES it iS. what’S it foR?”

“n-nothīng.” Adiatl continued to lie (just like i did about calling him Menoth. ha.). He started to walk… directly into a wall. Lenoth laughed, an annoyingly loud hyena-like giggle that echoed long after he had stopped.

“wow aRE yoU blind?! it’S not that darK in hERE!!”

“ī-ī’m not blind,” he choked, letting out a high-pitched shriek as Lenoth pounced on him and climbed up to his shoulders.

“yES yoU aRE!” he exclaimed triumphantly, having moved Adiatl’s hair from over his eyes. “yoUR EyES aRE REally wEiRd!!” He poked one of them, rather hard and looked at his finger, “thEy aREn’t EvEn wEt!! iS that SKin ovER thEm?! woah!!!” He poked and prodded at Adiatl’s eyes some more, all the while Adi whined and complained from the pain of having his poor eyes man handled by this child’s fingers. “that’S REally wEiRd!!!! yoU havE EyElidS and thiS wEiRd SKin ovER thEm!! wERE yoU boRn that way? can yoU Still movE yoUR EyEballS with that wEiRd SKin on thEm?! looK to thE Right!!” Adiatl did as he was told, afraid of what might happen if he didnt, his eyes over flowing with pain-induced tears. “WWWOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!! mEnoth that’S So cool! what’S it likE bEing blind?!”

“d-dark,” he squeaked out, “please get off of me!”

“wait!!! i gotta find yoUR hoRnS! yoUR haiR iS So mESSy. yoUR hoRnS mUSt bE REally Small!” Lenoth picked and prodded through Menoth’s hair in search of horns, instead finding a few fleas and a lot of dirt. “wow, dudE, yoU’RE REally gRoSS. yoU ShoUld lEt gECKodad ClEan yoU. yoU’vE got flEaS and EvERything. whERE aRE yoUR hoRnS?!”

Adiatl sighed loudly, reaching up to touch the small clusters of ragged crystal-like horns growing on either side of his forehead, just barely hidden by his hairline. “t-they’re rīght here… please get off now”

“thoSE? wow yoU havE littlE hoRn faRmS on yoUR hEad!! how did i miSS that?! thEy'RE not that Small at all!!!” Lenoth laughed, not at Adiatl’s horns, not at anything really, and stood on his shoulders, launching himself off of them and sending the other to the ground. Adiatl landed with a groan and an explosion of dust, his hair falling back down over his eyes. At least the kid was off of him now, but his butt sure didn’t appreciate the abuse. “why aRE yoU baCK on thE gRoUnd? gEt Up!! wE’vE gotta find that ghoSt!!” Lenoth grabbed his hostage by the arm and dragged him along the ground for a few feet, until the poor mole managed to slide back onto his feet and reclaim his arm.

“ī-ī was just about to go home, īt’s late. you should too, we’ll get lost īn here īf we go any further.”

“pffffffbbbbbbttttt!! loSt?! do yoU Know how faR i followEd yoU? yoU KnEw yoUR way aRoUnd no pRoblEm, EvEn thoUgh yoU’RE blind!! yoU mUSt comE hERE a lot, and yoU’RE not aboUt to lEavE.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did somebody say profiles?? no?? good  
> our two main dudes  
> Adiatl (aka Menoth), a six foot three dark green blooded lad, 9 sweeps old, mole lusus, staffkind. this isnt rly a story including sburb at all but he'd be the seer of doom. lives in these lovely tunnels in the side of/underneath a large foresty mountain. i'd describe in detail what he looks like but lets be honest i dont even really know. he's tall, and boney, and his hair is disgustingly messy and long enough to hang over his eyes. the rest of it is about shoulder length, i guess. i dont know, you tell me what he looks like idgaf
> 
> Lenoth, barely reaches five feet high, more of an aqua shade of blood, 8 sweeps old (Eight and a half!!!!!!), nunchuckskind, gecko lusus. his quirk is "excessive use of punctuation and capitalisation of the letters in SUCKER" because ur all suckers lol. he's as stupid as i am, dont judge him. he lives in a rainforest and here have this http://gyazo.com/2d4f13f1a89a54594d27f9075bd56978 (art by sir-grimmington[/zimmington] on tumblr). tho in canon his tank top is open-sided and loose and he wears colourful jelly necklaces. yes, the very ones you probably had in middle school. he's got a tighter tank top under the baggy one which is BRIGHT AQUA. HE LOVES HIS BLOOD COLOUR. HIS BELT IS AQUA, HIS SHOE LACES ARE AQUA, THE SOLES OF HIS SUPRAS ARE AQUA. FUCKING AQUA!!! the outter tank top is black tho. TO SHOW OFF HIS AQUA AS HELL SYMBOL!! SICK!!!!!! and his low-crotch skinny jeans are standard issue grey. but you can bet your butt they'd be aqua if he could find them. don't doubt him. he's also thief of hope. he's mad his pajamas arent aqua.
> 
> hell yeah  
> i havent slept in far too long

**Author's Note:**

> not all of the characters featured in this work will be mine, but i'll credit their owners in the respective chapters in which they pop up. yeehaw.


End file.
